


In Our Own True Way

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Clothing Kink, Corsetry, F/M, Femdom, Fights, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Intercrural Sex, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius doesn’t answer when you knock on his hive door. When it you open it yourself and step inside, well. You’re used to the broken bows and robots. What you aren’t used to seeing the floor positively littered with shattered robot parts. There’s a head lodged in the wall by its horns, you can already see at least one broken window, and oh dear, he’s even damaged some of his paintings. Once you see the bow shoved straight through his computer monitor, you go looking for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Our Own True Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [certainlyAmbiguous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/certainlyAmbiguous/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy your present! I know the Rose/Nepeta wasn't part of your original request, but when I was thinking through the character dynamics that might lead to this particular scenario, it just clicked and made a whole lot of sense in why characters were acting the way they did. So I had fun with that ship too and I hope it works okay for you! I loved all of your requests and it was hard to pick just one, but Lalonde/Zahhak ships are my happy place and I just had to go for this.

TT: I can’t recall, did you and Equius have plans for tonight?  
AC: >:(( < my plans for the night definitely dont involve that PAWFUL ASSHOLE  
AC: >:(( < so do whatefur the hell you want

                Equius doesn’t answer when you knock on his hive door. When it you open it yourself and step inside, well. You’re used to the broken bows and robots. What you _aren’t_ used to seeing the floor positively littered with shattered robot parts. There’s a head lodged in the wall by its horns, you can already see at least one broken window, and oh dear, he’s even damaged some of his paintings. Once you see the bow shoved straight through his computer monitor, you go looking for him.

                You find him in his respiteblock. When you step through the door, you hear something crunch under your foot and wince to find that yes, that does appear to be what’s left of his phone. Equius is standing beside a window, methodically pulling a robot arm to shreds, piece by piece, and he doesn’t turn to look at you. He _continues_ not to look at you when you call him by name, only flicks a strip of metal onto the floor.

                You sigh a little, just to yourself, and take a moment to think. Equius and Nepeta don’t fight often, but it’s never pretty. You’ll have to remember later to insinuate that it must take someone with a laughable grasp of romance to ask their kismesis to auspisticize between them and their moirail. That should make her positively furious. And of course, that isn’t even accounting for the fact that you’re already seeing Equius in his flushed quadrant. Why, this is positively filthy. You have to stop yourself from smiling.

                For now though… “ _Equius._ ” He flinches this time, just a touch. You pick your way forward through the debris on the floor. This mess isn’t quite as bad as the rest of the hive, but it’s certainly not _good._ When you reach him, he’s standing with his shoulders hunched forward, staring determinedly at a blank section of wall, rather than look at you. You _could_ wait. That certainly is a thing you could do. On the other hand, you could stretch up to grab his unbroken horn and turn him yourself to _face_ you. He’s strong enough to resist you, of course. But he never does, and the way he just yields without thinking still sends a little thrill down your spine.

                You can’t see his eyes past his glasses. You’ll fix that soon enough, but frankly, he doesn’t look well. You can leave him that defense for now. It isn’t worth spooking him this early. Instead, you do take the opportunity to look him up and down. His hands aren’t terribly steady as he twists what’s left of the robot arm back and forth, and you can see that he’s missing another tooth. You don’t sigh when he’s watching you like this, but you’d rather like to. Honestly, it’s at times like these when you think you come closest to understanding what trolls mean by romantic pity.

                You leave your hand on his horn and take your time looking him over until he begins shifting uneasily. When you lift your eyes back to his face, he breaks out into a fresh sweat. All you say is, “This is making my neck hurt,” and he goes straight to his knees without a moment’s hesitation. You wince. You were _planning_ to clear a space on the floor first.

                When you reach for Equius’s glasses, he flinches away, and you pause. You put your one hand back to his horn and hesitate for half a breath before putting the other one on his cheek. Scandalously close to a pap, but honestly, you can’t call this pale when you brush your thumb across his lips and think about what you want to do with that mouth.

                At least when you’re this close, you can feel it when he begins to lean into the contact. When he leans forward to rest his head against your stomach, you let your hand slide around to the back of his neck, and just hold him there. You can feel him relax by degrees. He still doesn’t move to touch you himself, and frankly, that’s probably the safer decision at this point. The reciprocal contact might be nice, but you really don’t need to risk anything else going wrong this evening. You can feel his breath against you through your shirt, and when you run your fingers through his hair, he shivers.

                Eventually, you venture, “Equius.” He stiffens against you, but it’s nothing near as bad as it was before. He doesn’t make a move to lift his face from your stomach. You tilt his head back yourself. He doesn’t resist, and he doesn’t flinch this time when you reach for his glasses, but when you pull them away, his eyes are tightly closed. You don’t fight it for now; you’re sure he’ll look at you eventually.

                And now, how to do this? You aren’t his moirail, and you certainly aren’t interested in filling that quadrant with him. “What happened with Nepeta?”

                His cheeks flush deep blue. “I will _not—_ ” He cuts himself off, his lips pressed tight together.

                You give his hair a sharp tug, and his eyes fly open, and he meets your eyes for the first time since you came to his block. “Equius, tell me what happened with Nepeta.” He doesn’t say a word, but honestly, you know him well enough to be sure he wouldn’t just ignore a direct order like that. You’ll let him turn it over in his head, and in the meantime, “Give me a towel, please.”

                He decaptchalogues a towel right into your hands. You absently wipe off his arms, shoulders, and face, watching his expression without making it seem like that’s what you’re doing. You’re just patting down his cheeks when he blurts, “My moirail—”

                “Yes?” But he only shakes his head. You wait, but he doesn’t say another word. You set the towel aside. “Do you want me to change the subject?” He nods. You… don’t sigh. Again. You’ll have to come back to this, of course. Equius is miserable, Nepeta’s probably no better, and you’re caught right in the middle. But given how tightly Equius is wound, you’re rather surprised he’s only been breaking bows and robots, and not his hive.

                Well, at least you do have quite a lot of experience in breaking him down. And ahh, especially if he’s still so angry he’s having difficulty with his control—You feel almost ashamed of the thrill this idea gives you, but now that you’ve thought of it, you absolutely _have_ to try it. “Equius, I want to put on some nicer clothes.”

                He bows his head. “Of course.”

                Now, this is nothing new. It’s an old game, but it always gets to him. You take a moment to flick through your sylladex and decaptchalogue one thing: a pair of claw trimmers. Equius knows it’s coming, but when you hand them to him, he still flushes brilliant blue and you can see fresh sweat beading on his cheeks. You watch while he trims his claws down, one by one, humiliatingly short and blunt. You’re not even sure he realizes he’s smiling when you hand him a file. Now, you _could_ take the time to paint his nails in your ‘color,’ have him leave that mark on him until it falls off on its own—But no, you’d have to wait for them to dry, and you’re impatient to be moving on. Maybe later.

                While he files his nails, you carefully select an outfit. You make an effort these days to keep spare clothes in your sylladex, because Equius does tend to break things even when he’s careful, and Nepeta makes a _special_ effort to ruin your clothes in new and inventive ways, but of course, you don’t _only_ captchalogue your everyday clothing. You don’t need much for now, only a pair of sheer stockings—and shoes, there’s a generous amount of sharp metal all over the floor.

                When Equius is done, you set the clothing on the windowsill, smile down at him, and tell him, “Undress me.”

                Strictly speaking, this isn’t the _best_ part, but it’s still certainly pleasant. Equius takes his time—because he has to. Every button is a struggle to avoid shattering the button or tearing the cloth, and my, it seems that since you began seeing him, you’ve suddenly taken a _remarkable_ interest in clothing with as many fasteners as possible. Instead of a zipper, your skirt has a column of buttons he has to undo, one by one, and you can see his hands shaking with the effort of holding them so steady. He manages the skirt without a single mishap, sliding it over your hips and down to the floor, and he looks up at you for approval before he goes on.

                Your shirt does pose a bit of a challenge. It’s woven, without a bit of stretch to it at all, and Equius stands, and pauses for a moment in confusion when he can’t find a fastener, until you raise an arm and show him the tiny zipper tucked into the side seam. It’s absolutely fascinating to watch him. He has to pay close attention as he lowers the zipper, otherwise he’d just tear the whole side of your shirt open. You almost hope he does, having the clothing ripped off your body _never_ stops being thrilling. But he’s completely focused, and when reaches the bottom of the zipper and smiles nervously down at you, you can’t help smiling back. You raise your arms for him, and he lifts the shirt over your head. You hear a seam pop as it passes your shoulders, but honestly, you’re rather surprised that’s the only problem he had.

                After all that, you bra is no significant challenge. It’s only a simple hook-and-eye closure, with elastic to ease it along, and once that’s unhooked and you shrug out of it, Equius goes to his knees in front of you again. There’s really no _reason_ for him to go quite so slowly as he slides your underwear down over your legs, raises your feet one by one for you to step out of it. And then, all that remains is your shoes. Those are difficult. So many straps, so many tiny buckles. Why, it’s almost as though you dressed with the intention of making it difficult for him. Perish the thought! Equius is bent down over your feet so closely that you can’t see how well he’s doing. But you find your view quite pleasant, thank you very much, with his hair draped over his shoulders and his muscles shifting underneath his shirt.

                When he finally eases your feet out of the shoes and sets them down on the floor, you tilt his head up, bend to give him a lazy, lingering kiss, and tell him, “Well done.” And then you hand him the stockings.

                Now _this_ is the best part. One of the best parts. One of _many_ best parts. Equius takes the first stocking and rolls it carefully, handling it like it’s as fragile as tissue. And for him, it is. If he didn’t trim his claws, they’d go right through the fabric, and it isn’t easy for him to avoid destroying them by accident even with his claws trimmed. And you certainly enjoy having him shred them off you, but _this_ —

                He lifts your left leg first, handling you as though you’re just as delicate as the stocking. You don’t lean on the wall or brace yourself on him, you simply let him take your weight as he lifts you. He sets the stocking to your toe, and begins rolling it up your leg. And this still just as enjoyable as the first time you had him do it. You’ve had your fantasies of course, of tying someone up and watching them struggle, powerless to escape. And you’re almost certain there’s no decent way to do that with Equius, which is really such a shame. But that has just meant you’ve had to be creative, and oh, there are so many wonderful ways to make him struggle _not_ to use his strength.

                Having him put stockings on you is… not fast. It took him weeks of trying before he managed to put a single stocking on you without tearing it, and even now, he has to move as slowly as he can, inch by slow inch. You could watch for _hours_. And in fact, you touch yourself. With a show as lovely as this, it would be a shame not to show him that you appreciate it. And, of course, he has a perfect view of what you’re doing from where he is. His head jerks upright and he blushes deep blue, and he almost tears the stocking before he steadies himself and bends his head again—but you can still see that he’s blue out to the tips of his ears, and there’s a very suspicious, ha, _bulge_ in his pants.

                He finally settles the top edge of the stocking on your thigh and clears his throat several times before he manages, “Is that…?”

                You smile. “Acceptable? Yes, certainly.”

                He ducks his head as he sets your foot down on the floor and begins your other leg. You keep touching yourself as he works, and honestly, you probably aren’t helping this go any faster. You wonder if you could get him to tear the stocking if you began moaning. A thought for another day, perhaps. Equius keeps stealing glances up between your legs, and his hands are shaking with the effort of not tearing the stocking. You’re rather torn yourself, on whether you’d prefer he did it well and you praised him, or whether you’d prefer he made a mistake you could punish him for.

                He’s almost done, only inches away from settling the second stocking, when his thumb goes right through the fabric. He freezes for a breath, before he slowly turns his eyes up to you. You keep your face blank, and only say, “Go on.”

                When he’s finished, you hand him your shoes without a word, and he slips them onto your feet, steadying your legs as you shift your weight. Then he sits back on his heels, looking up at you through his hair.

                “Equius. You made a mistake.”

                He bows his head.

                “What happens when you make a mistake?”

                He shivers. “I’m punished.”

                You bend down and run your fingers through his hair. “And what’s an appropriate punishment, do you think?”

                “I—”

                “I seem to recall that earlier this evening you were being rather difficult about answering a question. A very simple question. Equius, what happened with Nepeta?”

                His eyes drop from yours. He doesn’t say a word, but neither do you. And really, you know far more about passive aggressive silence than he does. He’s the first one to break.

                “It was. An argument.”

                “Mmm?”

                He tries to hold out, but it doesn’t last. “The hemocaste—”

                Oh dear. You can’t help yourself, you sigh out loud. “ _Equius_.”

                He flushes and snaps. “It, it is _important_ , it is the foundation of our society, and. And it is the place of every troll to be aware of, of their place, their _blood_ —”

                You stay quiet until he trails off into silence. This is honestly—You wish you were more surprised, that’s the thing. “Your punishment is to text Nepeta that you’re sorry.”

                He pulls back. “I will _not._ ”

                You raise your eyebrows and just look at him until he begins to wilt. “And I suppose that means you aren’t sorry, then? Should I expect you both to take a few weeks of sulking and refusing to make the first move before you finally reconcile? A few _months?_ Because I categorically refuse to be around either of you while that happens.”

                Equius purses his lips and glowers at the wall.

                “If you can honestly tell me that you have _nothing_ to be sorry for, absolutely nothing, you didn’t say anything you regretted in the slightest— _if_ you can tell me that… you don’t have to text her.” Still no response. You decaptchalogue your phone and bring up your chat client. “Equius? Did you say anything you wish you hadn’t? Anything out of line, anything unkind? If you can honestly tell me that you were perfectly reasonable, you don’t have to message her.”

                It takes a few moments. You’re prepared to outwait him. But then abruptly, without looking at you, he holds out a hand. You only smile a little as you give him your phone. It only takes a few seconds, barely any time at all, and then he’s shoving the phone back into your hands, glaring miserably up at you. You captchalogue your phone and then go right for _him_ , taking his face in both hands and alternating kisses with praise, that yes, you know that was difficult and he didn’t want to do it, but he did such a good job and you’re proud of him. He doesn’t _want_ to let the praise get to him, you can tell, but it’s easy to feel the way he softens against you, relaxing into your touches, kissing you back instead of letting your lips just glance off his.

                When you finally pull back, he nervously licks his lips and asks, “Should I—?”

                Oh, yes. You’d almost forgotten. “I have one other piece of clothing for you to put on me. This is something new.” And you decaptchalogue your corset.

                He seems perfectly at ease as he undoes the front fasteners, and as he stands to put it on you, you casually add, “Of course, since it’s new, I need you to tighten the lacing.”

                Equius freezes. And honestly, you don’t blame him. This is dangerous. It’s so dangerous that how are you supposed to resist? It would be incredibly easy for him to kill you like this. Thrilling, isn’t it? But. _But._ That kind of death would be neither just nor heroic. Even under the most generous interpretations of those terms, you can’t think of any way the death would be permanent. You’d still have to _die_ of course, and you don’t want that any more than Equius does. But when you can play with stakes this high and still avoid any permanent consequences, how are you supposed to say no? Equius thought that the stockings were a challenge? _This_ is a challenge.

                He is pale when you look at him, though, and he doesn’t look at all happy. He licks his lips. “I, I should not—”

                “Of course you should.” He’s shaking his head. “Equius, put the corset on me.”

                “I _cannot_.”

                You pause. “And of course you can. Are you disagreeing with me?”

                He doesn’t look at you, he doesn’t move, nothing. You take the corset from his hands and wrap it around your stomach, hooking the front in place yourself. You turn your back to him and look over your shoulder. “Equius, I’d like you to tighten my laces.”

                And then you wait. You don’t have to wait very long, as it happens. He steps up close behind you, and while he’s still hesitating, you say, “All you have to do is begin at the top and bottom, and gather the excess in the center.”

                You can feel his hands shaking while he fumbles with the lacing. You do understand, you really do, but even in the worst case scenario, this is perfectly safe for you. He tightens the first crossing and moves on, but—“Equius, that isn’t tight enough. It will fall off if we leave it that loose.”

                His hands are even more unsteady this time. “Just tighten until I tell you to stop.” The pace he moves at is infuriatingly slow. So, just like the stockings, your only choice is to savor it. You slip a hand between your legs as he gradually pulls the laces tighter and tighter. You know he notices from the way his breath catches. Finally, you say, “Mm, that’s perfect.”

                One crossing down… and how many to go? Even now that he should have an approximate idea of how tight he needs to go, he moves just as slowly as before. It’s even better than you thought. It’s the most fantastic tease, feeling the corset gradually tighten around your ribs, knowing Equius could _crush_ your ribs if he slips—You’re already impatient for him to be done, and you know he’s only barely started. You wish you’d thought of this months ago.

                When the second crossing is done, you come to a remarkable realization: You have two hands, and you’re only using one. Your other hand is entirely free to reach behind you and seek out interesting parts of Equius’s anatomy. When you reach for his hands and find a generous helping of bulge, Equius jumps and the laces tighten so hard and sudden that you make an involuntary noise at the back of your throat. _God_. You want to grind back against Equius, but you can’t, not if you want him to keep tightening your laces.

                And he doesn’t speed up, not in the slightest. Every lace he tightens so slowly you sometimes wonder if he’s even moving at all. Even when you manage to undo his pants with one hand and his bulge twists out and coils around your wrist, he still doesn’t go any faster. _hhhhh_ hheHe tightens your laces one at a time, and with every breath you’re more and more conscious of how easy it would be for him to just tighten it further and further, just that bit too far. It’s already more difficult for you to move and bend, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep your balance when all you want to do is curl forward around your hand or throw Equius down to the ground and just _ride_ him.

                You can’t finish like this. When you realize, you almost sob with frustration. You’re so close, _so close_ , but maybe it’s the angle, _something_ is wrong, and you can’t _finish_. And Equius still has almost a third of the corset to go. You nearly order him to go faster. But if you spook him too badly now, you might never get to do this again and—no, that would not be acceptable. It takes so long. You feel like a prisoner counting down the days to her release, and finally, _finally_ Equius collects the extra length of the laces in the middle and ties it into one quick knot.

                When he speaks his voice is hoarse. “ _Rose—_ ”

                You swallow hard. “I want your bulge.”

                He shifts close against your back, his bulge pressing forward between your legs. His hands hover nervously above your waist until you take them and bring them around between your thighs. When his fingers brush against your clit, you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning. You want to grind back against him, you want him closer, you want _more_ of him. It’s hard to move freely with the corset constricting you, and every time it bites into you, you’re reminded of how it felt with Equius tightening it so, so slowly. His bulge thrashes between your thighs, and when you reach down and let the tip curl into your hand, Equius buries his face in your neck and gasps for air.

                Every place he’s touching you feels electrified. His hands feel so perfect between your legs, his back is molded against yours, and he presses his lips against the back of your shoulder as he rocks his hips against yours. Every thrust sends his bulge sliding between your thighs, and when you look down, you can already see genetic material staining your stockings. It’s beautiful. You don’t manage to last long, you were already so close, and this is everything you needed. You grind down against his hand as you hit your peak, curling forward as much as you’re able and trusting him take your weight.

                As soon as you’ve recovered, you find your feet again and arch against him, reaching back to tangle your hand in his hair and pull him tighter against you. His hands are on your hips now, so tight they’re probably leaving bruises, which is just the way you like it. When you reach down for his bulge again, he moans against your shoulder, then when you press your thighs tighter together around him, he gasps and wraps an arm around your waist as he hits climax, releasing genetic material all down your legs. When you put your hands on his, you can feel him shaking.

                It takes him some moments to pull away. And when he does, you feel strangely bereft. So you smile at him and ask, “Will you undress me?”

                You could captchalogue the clothes right off your body—you do captchalogue the clothes right off _his_ body—but this is better. You let him seat you on the windowsill as he slips off your shoes and carefully rolls down each stocking. And then, last of all, he slowly undoes each hook of your corset. It feels like the first deep breath you’ve ever taken, and you can’t helm smiling when you touch all the little dents and lines it’s left on your body.

                You thank Equius and captchalogue all the dirty clothing, plus as much of the genetic material puddle and torn up metal as you can imagine. That is… certainly a disaster waiting to happen, so you’re rather glad you still have the outfit you arrived in, rather than going into your sylladex looking for more clothing. Equius looks exhausted by the time you finish cleaning up, and you can’t blame him. Honestly, at this point, you’re beginning to lose steam yourself. Clearly there’s nothing to do but cuddle together on a couch and waste the rest of the evening.

                It’s rather a lovely, peaceful waste of an evening until Nepeta bursts into the hive like a whirlwind. She climbs over you to get to Equius—which takes some effort since when she came _into_ the room, Equius was closer to her than you were—and she manages to kick you in the stomach along the way. The first thing she proclaims to him is, “I’m sorry too!” And then she turns to you and adds, “If you’re going to make him send messages, you might want to think about logging _off_ the chat client first. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice it was your account?”

                You roll your eyes, because of _course_ it was your account. That was never the purpose—But you can let her have the point. Just like you can let her barge into _your_ date night. You don’t give up your spot against Equius’s side, but it is a large couch. She settles in against him on his other side, and it’s surprisingly natural the way the three of you slip into easy conversation together. Equius has a careful arm around each of you, and you have an arm draped over his stomach, exactly as you did before Nepeta made her dramatic entrance. But now Nepeta has her arm resting on top of yours, holding your wrist in her hand. After a moment’s thought, you turn your arm to hold her hand instead. And the two of you stay that way together through the evening, while she takes cheap shots at you and you make cutting remarks of your own, and both of you keep Equius flustered and off-balance in your own ways. It’s a pleasant way to pass the evening, and by the time the three of you end up drifting off to sleep on top of each other, you think you can safely say you are quite content.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/115786929691/in-our-own-true-way-spockandawe-homestuck)


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